‘Is there anything you can tell me that might help us to find Alexander Danforth’s killer?’
He saw that her eyes glistened. She plucked mechanically at a stray thread on the sleeve of her dark dress.
‘How long have you known him?’ he prompted gently.
She flushed, but there was a flash of anger in her eyes.
‘I know what some people think about our relationship, Inspector. Michael Morville and Charles Crichton are civil enough, but Frank Sheridan – well, he’s disagreeable to everyone. He never talks to me, but I often catch him staring in the oddest way, as if he wants to eat me.’
She grimaced. ‘Bert Raikes is an odious man too. Always finding an opportunity to make snide remarks.’
‘Did you mention any of this to Mr Danforth?’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘He would have been furious and if he’d spoken out, he would have had to break his promise to Kathleen. I couldn’t ask him to do that.’
De Silva was thoroughly puzzled.
Emerald sighed. ‘Now that he’s gone, I may as well tell you, Inspector. I expect it will come out sooner or later anyway. Alexander and I weren’t lovers. He was my father.’
Chapter 12
It took a few seconds for it to dawn on de Silva that the news didn’t seem to come as a surprise to Archie Clutterbuck. Had the young woman already confided in him? If so, why hadn’t he cleared the matter up when the possibility of an affair was first mentioned? Even though he’d seemed dismissive of it, he’d let the suggestion that it might be a contributory motive for Danforth’s murder remain on the table. Why on earth hadn’t he been more open? It wasn’t as if de Silva would have spread the news round Nuala.
‘My mother met Alexander before the war and they became lovers. Perhaps she hoped they would marry, but they didn’t. When her family found out she was living with him, they were furious and disowned her. Then war broke out. Alexander was posted abroad and it was only after he’d gone that she realised I was on the way.’
‘Did she tell your father?’
‘No, they’d quarrelled bitterly before he left. She had nowhere else to go, so she went back to her parents. I don’t think they made her feel very welcome but they took her in. She was still with them when I was born and she stayed throughout the war. My grandparents were very pleased to have a grandchild and, in wartime, it was so common for husbands and fathers to be absent that it didn’t raise any comment. After the war ended, though, and Alexander returned to England, my mother left me with my grandparents and went back to him.’
Once more, Emerald fiddled with the stray thread on her sleeve. The only sound was the rhythmic swish of the ceiling fan scything the air.
‘She didn’t tell him about me at that stage,’ she went on. ‘By then my grandparents felt they were too old to cope with a young child on their own so my mother’s sister and her husband looked after me. They lived in a different part of the country to my grandparents so no one needed to know the circumstances in which I came to them. Their name was Watson and that was what they called me. They were childless and they told their friends and acquaintances they had adopted me.’
She paused and closed her eyes for a moment, pressing the fingertips of one hand to her forehead. ‘I think I would like that tea now if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course, my dear.’ Clutterbuck went to the telephone and ordered tea. ‘Take as much time as you need to compose yourself,’ he said when he had sat down again. ‘Would you prefer to continue our interview later?’
Emerald shook her head. ‘I’m alright. I’m sure the inspector feels he has been patient for long enough.’
De Silva murmured a polite denial.
‘Returning to my father was a disaster for my mother. She was already fragile and he found it very hard to cope with. They broke up again but this time, she found no consolation in coming back to her family.’ There was a long pause. ‘I’m afraid that she took her own life.’
‘I’m so sorry, ma’am,’ said de Silva. ‘What a tragedy for you.’
Emerald smiled sadly. ‘My aunt and uncle did their best to shield me at the time, Inspector. It was much later that I learnt what had really happened.’
There was a knock and a servant bearing a silver tray brought in the tea. When it had been poured out, de Silva raised his cup to his lips gratefully. In spite of the ceiling fan, it was stuffy in the room.
‘My uncle and aunt contacted Alexander to tell him the sad news. At last, they told him he had a daughter. It must have come as a shock, but he didn’t shy away from his responsibilities. Between them, they agreed that my aunt and uncle would bring me up but he would help out financially when he could. I only saw him a few times and I was still quite young when he took the company abroad, but he stayed in touch all those years.’
Her voice sounded hoarse and she stopped to drink some tea. ‘I was told he was my godfather,’ she said when she was ready to continue. ‘Although I didn’t see him, I loved the presents he sent. Dolls in exotic costumes and toys when I was younger, then, as I grew up, lovely dresses made of fabulous silks the like of which I never saw in England. He wrote letters telling me about the countries he and the company visited and the people who lived there. To me, those letters were as magical as fairy tales.
‘When I was twenty-one, my father came back to England for my birthday party and told me the truth. He travelled by aeroplane, leaving the rest of the company in Shimla for a few weeks’ summer break. I’d never known anyone who travelled by air before. I knew it must cost an enormous amount of money and it seemed so glamorous. Learning Alexander was really my father changed everything for me. At twenty-one, I was free to make my own choices. I decided that I wanted to join the company and travel, and I persuaded him to take me back with him.’
A bold step for a girl who appeared to have led a sheltered life, thought de Silva.
Emerald Watson seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, my life in England was very happy, but I was convinced that a different, more exciting one was waiting for me, and I wanted to seize my chance.’
‘Was there nothing you regretted leaving behind?’
‘There was a man who was sweet on me, if that’s what you mean. He was nice, but I didn’t care about him in the same way he cared about me.’
She paused, then a defiant note crept into her voice. ‘Friends told me I was mad to send George away. He was well off with a good career. But I know I did the right thing.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose my aunt and uncle always thought I would marry and have a family so I wasn’t trained for anything much. I can’t imagine what I’d have done if I’d stayed in England as a single woman.’
‘One thing still puzzles me, Miss Watson. Why didn’t you want it known that you were Alexander Danforth’s daughter?’
‘It wasn’t me, or my father, Inspector; it was because of Kathleen. She and my father never had a child of their own and it was a very painful issue for her. Admitting that he had a daughter by someone else, and a grown-up daughter at that, would have been a bitter pill for her to swallow. People just assumed that Father and Kathleen had taken the decision not to be parents. She agreed to my coming out here, but it was on condition that we didn’t reveal my parentage without her sanction.’
The admission surprised de Silva. Kathleen Danforth was one of the last people he would have expected to be desperate for a child. How tricky it was to fathom people. She was obviously far more insecure than she gave the impression of being. Then he remembered what Michael Morville had said about her wanting to preserve an illusion of beauty and youth. A grown-up stepdaughter, and a very attractive one too, would not have suited her at all.
‘My father didn’t want to upset her so he suggested we humour her for a while. He was convinced she’d see reason before too long.’
De Silva glanced at Clutterbuck who was looking strangely uncomfortable. Probably he found talk of complicated emotions and relationships embarrassing.
‘But she didn’t
, and the longer the deception went on, the harder it was going to be to reveal the truth.’
Her eyes brimmed. She retrieved a handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose resolutely. ‘I’m sorry I’m so little help to you, Inspector. I want my father’s killer punished more than anything, and if I had the faintest idea who was responsible, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.’
Inwardly, de Silva sighed. Emerald’s regret seemed genuine, and, in any case, why would she want her father dead?
Clutterbuck pushed back his chair and lumbered to his feet. ‘I think we can bring our meeting to a close now. Agreed, de Silva?’
De Silva stood up too. ‘Thank you, Miss Watson, you’ve been most helpful and, once again, please accept my condolences for your loss.’
‘I don’t think the inspector will need to trouble you again, my dear,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘Will you, de Silva.’
De Silva felt mildly annoyed at the assumption, although it was probably correct. ‘I doubt it, but all the same I’d be grateful if you would stay on in Nuala for the moment.’
‘Of course. As it is, I’m not ready to make any plans yet. David… I mean Doctor Hebden, says there’s plenty of time and I mustn’t worry about the future.’
‘Good advice,’ said Archie Clutterbuck with a nod. ‘Come along, de Silva. Time we were leaving this young lady in peace.’
He patted Emerald’s hand. ‘Don’t forget to call on me if you need anything.’
She gave him a watery smile. ‘You’re very kind.’
As they returned to the hotel lobby, Clutterbuck’s face didn’t betray any emotion. De Silva debated whether to ask him if he’d already known about Emerald’s parentage, but decided against it. Whatever the answer, it was unlikely to advance the case and, if Clutterbuck wanted to keep his own counsel, it wasn’t the time to challenge him. Better to have Archie on his side, at least until the promised interview with Kathleen Danforth was over.
**
As he followed Archie into the sitting room of Kathleen Danforth’s suite, de Silva wasn’t sure what kind of reception he would receive. Her quarters were certainly luxurious. He’d never seen any of the suites at the Crown before but he imagined that few, if any of them, were as grand as this one. Double doors leading to a balcony stood open. He glimpsed large copper pots filled with ferns and orchids, and two steamer chairs with cream cushions.
A light breeze stirred the long muslin curtains that hung on either side of the doors. The fabric broke on the dark wooden floor like cream over chocolate cake. The furniture would have overpowered any room that was not as spacious as this one, but an effect that might have been forbidding was softened by inviting sofas and chairs, opulently upholstered in golden satin and scattered with embroidered cushions. At one end of the room, there was a massive fireplace. No doubt in such a large room a fire was welcome on Nuala’s occasional cold nights, but today the hearth was filled with a magnificent arrangement of cream and yellow roses.
In contrast to all this splendour, the woman who rose from one of the sofas to greet them looked desolate. Now he saw her close to, de Silva noticed that her heavy makeup did not fully conceal the lines at the corners of her eyes and lips. He felt a pang of sympathy for her, then registered her expression in his detective’s mind. Would even the most accomplished actress manage to convey such profound sorrow?
Kathleen Danforth extended a slim hand to Archie Clutterbuck; both of his large, blunt ones enveloped it.
‘My dear lady,’ he murmured. ‘Inspector de Silva and I appreciate your courage in seeing us.’
He let her hand go and gestured to de Silva who stepped forward hesitantly.
‘I’ll try to take up as little of your time as possible, ma’am,’ he ventured.
‘Oh, you mustn’t worry about that, Inspector.’ Kathleen Danforth’s natural voice had a lilting timbre – a softer version of her late husband’s Irish brogue. ‘Since my poor Alexander has been taken from me, my time is worth very little. I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting for so long. Dear Mr Clutterbuck wanted to protect my privacy, but I knew that couldn’t go on. You’ve spoken with Emerald I expect.’
De Silva nodded.
‘Then she’s told you she’s Alexander’s daughter.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Vanity is a terrible sin, Inspector. Alexander and I argued and I made him promise to keep it a secret but I know he wasn’t happy doing so. And now he’s dead and it’s too late to make amends.’
‘There’s no evidence it would have made any difference to what’s happened,’ Clutterbuck said quietly.
She sighed. ‘Perhaps not, but I wish we hadn’t argued.’ A sad smile softened her features. ‘Alexander and I often disagreed but trouble between us was soon over. It was hard to be angry with my husband for long.’
De Silva frowned. Had she found it as easy as that to forgive her husband’s infidelities?
Kathleen Danforth raised an eyebrow. ‘You mustn’t believe everything you’re told, Inspector. Oh, there were other people for both of us after our marriage, but that never changed our feelings for each other.’
Presumably she included Paul Mayne in that, but her insecurity over Emerald made him wonder if she had always taken such a phlegmatic view of her husband’s infidelities. It seemed she was prepared to go as far as besmirching Emerald Watson’s character to satisfy her own foibles. It didn’t indicate a rational nature. Could a fit of jealousy have driven her to murder? Perhaps, after all, it was wrong to rule her out.
‘It would help me if you would tell me exactly what you were doing on the day of your husband’s death.’
‘I breakfasted here then left for the theatre at about eleven o’clock. When I arrived, my maid, Olive Reilly, was already there. One of my costumes needed altering. I tried it on and she pinned it. When that was done, she had a light lunch brought in for me. It was far too hot to be troubling to come back to the hotel. In any case, I never like to eat much at midday. After Olive left, I went over some of my lines then read and wrote letters. At about five o’clock, Olive helped me into my costume and arranged my hair. As it was a dress rehearsal, she didn’t do my face. In this hot weather, I only wear my stage makeup for the public performances.’
‘Then you went to the green room?’
‘Yes. I believe it was a little before six.’
‘Was there a reason why you didn’t call for your husband to come with you?’
She gave him a steely look. ‘Alexander was never still except when he was preparing to go on stage. Then he liked to be left to himself and I didn’t disturb him. He would join us when he was ready.’
‘Did you hear any unusual noises coming from the direction of your husband’s dressing room that afternoon?’
‘None.’
‘I’d like to speak with Olive Reilly if she’s available.’
Kathleen Danforth turned to Archie Clutterbuck. ‘May I trouble you?’
Archie got to his feet with more than usual alacrity. ‘Of course, dear lady.’
He went to the telephone that sat on a table by the door and dialled the number for the reception desk. There was a short pause then someone answered.
‘This is the assistant government agent speaking,’ Clutterbuck said briskly. ‘Find out if Miss Reilly is in the hotel. If she is, tell her she’s wanted in Mrs Danforth’s suite immediately.’ He listened for a moment then replaced the receiver. ‘They’re sending someone to find her.’
He returned to his chair and the three of them sat in silence for a few moments. It was broken only by the rustle of the long curtains draping the doors to the balcony as they billowed gently in the light breeze. Archie Clutterbuck stood up and paced to the fireplace where he remained for a while, apparently examining the brass carriage clock on the mantelshelf. Kathleen Danforth smiled calmly at de Silva, her hands folded in her lap. He thought how becoming her black dress was against her bright hair.
When Olive Reilly came into the room, she seemed familiar, but it took de Silva a mome
nt or two to place where he had seen her before. Near the bazaar: that was it. She was the woman he’d noticed waiting to cross the road. Her bearing was still ramrod straight and now that she was not wearing a hat, he saw that the impression of unbending severity he had received extended to the expression on her face. With her aquiline nose and high cheek bones, some people might have described her as a handsome woman, but he found her chilly air of disapproval too off-putting for that.
Like her mistress, she wore black, but the fabric of her dress looked far less expensive. He noted, however, that it was well cut and showed off her neat waist. He remembered Sheridan saying that she was very skilled with her needle.
‘Miss Reilly,’ he began when introductions had been made. ‘Mrs Danforth has explained that you were pinning a dress for her on the morning of the day Mr Danforth was murdered. She’s told us you arranged for lunch to be brought in, then you went to deal with the alterations to the dress.’
‘That’s right.’
De Silva reached into the bag containing the scissors that he had brought with him and took them out. ‘Do you recognise these?’
He heard Kathleen Danforth’s sharp intake of breath and realised he had made a tactless mistake, but there was no helping it now.
The maid’s expression remained impassive. ‘They’re similar to my own, but mine are in my work bag.’ She gave him a supercilious look. ‘Would you like me to show them to you, Inspector?’
‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.’
‘As you please.’
‘No doubt your work for Mrs Danforth and the company keeps you busy.’
‘I like to be occupied.’
‘But I think you found time to visit the bazaar here in Nuala.’
If Olive Reilly was disconcerted, she betrayed no evidence of it, nor did she ask how he knew.
‘There’s often some little thing I need unexpectedly.’
‘And this was such an occasion?’
‘Yes, I didn’t have the right colour thread to match a costume.’
Offstage in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 3) Page 11
